Memoratus in Aeternum
by LittleLeto
Summary: "Never Forgotten." AU story of Leto's rise to the most powerful slave in Tevinter, and the price he ultimately pays. Accompaniment to Per Ardua Ad Astra but can be read alone. Eventual disturbing and violent content with slash, male rape and torture.
1. Chapter 1

****_Thank you to my wonderful beta-reader, Mary, for her help and encouragement with this story._

**Anything to survive**

"I congratulate you, Mencius. Your gardens are impressive; you certainly know how to get the most out of your people."

Mencius dipped his head with a pretence of modesty. He knew that the older man's flattery was insincere, but, being well-acquainted with the game, he played along; his guest would be departing soon.

"There." Mencius pointed at a group of five elven men, all stripped to the waist, who were tilling a plot of soil in preparation for laurel trees to be planted. The elves chatted quietly while they worked, and, as they took a short break to draw water from the well, to outward appearances they were a group of friends enjoying a spot of gardening on a sunny evening.

Only, this group of friends were shackled at the ankles and wrists.

"Those are your bodyguards?" asked the older man, noticing that these particular men were muscular and well-nourished, and were obviously treated better than some of their contemporaries. "You put them to work in your _gardens?"_

"_Some_, yes," drawled Mencius, ensuring his guest knew that he was not without protection. "My _Bellatori_ are my strongest and most deadly. Being in the sun affords them hardiness and gives them the illusion of freedom for a short time. They are more productive as a result."

The older man nodded distractedly. "You _believe_ that giving them the illusion of freedom is a good idea, then?"

Irritated by the old man's questions, and deciding it was about time for him to depart, Mencius steered him closer to the group of elves. "The one with the black hair."

"_That _is your finest bodyguard?"

"He is the finest I will permit you to take. You will not have Ursus; we have already agreed upon this."

Suppressing a sigh, Mencius's guest eyed the dark-haired, wiry but muscular slave as he resumed work after taking a drink of water. "How is his temperament?"

"He is a skilled, fearless and vicious killer, and will defend you ferociously. He is also highly intelligent and can be wilful, and may occasionally show signs of independent thought, but a simple threat against his mother or sister will quickly subdue him. Only once did I need to have him beaten; he is a fast learner, and once was enough."

"Mother? Sister?"

A smirk settled over Mencius's features. "Did you not know? They are also in my service, and have been for many years. If you want the best out of him, you had better take _them_ with you, as well."

Angered, the older man crossed his arms and fixed Mencius with a hard look. "Our bargain was for _one_ bodyguard."

"And I have fulfilled my part of the bargain," answered Mencius smoothly. "I give Leto to you. I am merely advising you that taking his family as well will _ensure_ his loyalty. Heed or disregard my advice as you will; I care not."

Determined not to let the newly-appointed upstart see his displeasure, the older man stroked his beard and nodded. "And how are they?"

"Silvestra is a fair cook, but her hip is crook, and I do not use her for heavy labour. She is loyal and true, however. Varania is an adequate bed-warmer; I have taken her once or twice, but there are better. I let her service my bodyguards and perform domestic duties. Neither is outstanding, but then, they are free to you. Leto, however, _is_ outstanding. I will miss him, in a way, I suppose."

"And his father?"

"He died last year. Leto accused me of working him too hard; that was when I had him beaten. He has not questioned me since."

"Very well, I will take them; I will find a use for them. I will speak to Leto now."

"This way." Mencius led his guest to a small outbuilding and snapped his fingers, a shackled elven male immediately arriving beside him and lowering his head. "Bring Leto to me," Mencius commanded without even looking at him.

"Yes, Master."

~o~O~o~

"That's him, Leto-don't be so obvious! Don't stare at them!"

"He _has_ come for me, has he not? Would he not _want _to take a good look at me?"

The elf quickly turned his friend around and thrust a shovel into his hand. "Don't jeopardise this opportunity, Leto; from what I hear, Danarius treats his slaves well. If you were to become his head bodyguard, you and your family would want for nothing. Don't antagonise him."

A dark eyebrow went up, along with one side of his mouth. "No doubt you are correct, Vionet. Very well; let him look at my posterior, if he so wishes." He bent slightly and began to dig.

"It's your best side."

An amused grunt came from Leto, turning into a quiet laugh. "So, what else do you know about this…Danarius?"

"Only what I've heard at Mencius's dinner parties." Vionet glanced around and lowered his voice. "Danarius has no idea that he's a joke among his fellow magisters. The things they say about him behind his back…that he is too old, weak, and is losing his touch. Once, he was feared and respected, but now there are many upcoming youngsters ready to take his place. They also say he's ill, but whether it's an illness of the mind or the body, I was unable to determine."

Leto paused, his eyebrow creeping higher, and the sun caught his green eyes as they turned on his friend. "Easily manipulated, then."

"Maybe. Aloisius certainly had him around his little finger; before he was killed in the tournament, he was Danarius's favourite bed-warmer. Danarius gave him his own apartment not far from his private chambers, so he was close by at all times."

Leto's hooded eyes slowly moved to the two magisters, who were talking at the other end of the garden, and he coolly regarded the grey-haired, bearded mage through his lashes. "He's not my usual taste, but I suppose it's better than being beaten. I can always close my eyes, can't I?" The dull timbre of his voice told Vionet that Leto was doing his best to convince himself of his words, but not entirely succeeding.

"You're fortunate, Leto," whispered Vionet. "Danarius is an old fool, and soft, from what I hear. If you please him, he will favour you."

A shadow passed over Leto's face. "So long as my sister and mother are cared for, I will give him whatever he wants. My own comfort is secondary to theirs. I will not have my _sister _being used as a _bedwarmer_. Mencius passes her around his guards like a bottle of cheap wine and wonders why I _defy_ him. I would kill him if I could."

Vionet touched Leto's arm, alarmed by his glower and the low, harsh quality to his voice. "Leto, I want you to know that…your sister…I have never-"

"I know, Vionet. Have no fear. I know _precisely _who _has_." Leto's eyes moved over to a few of the other elves who were working with them, before – following a nudge from Vionet – he resumed his work.

"Here he comes," whispered Vionet, seeing one of Mencius's low-ranking slaves running over.

"Leto; the Master has sent for you," breathed the lackey. "Be quick."

Leto drove his shovel into the dirt, wiped his brow with his forearm and glared at the slave over his shoulder. "I will _go _because Mencius has summoned me, not because _you _order me to be _quick._ And you will _address_ me in the proper manner._"_

"I-I meant no disrespect, Bellator," stuttered the elf, his eyes cast to the ground.

"Be off with you," Vionet directed, and watched as the low slave doffed a nod and scurried away.

"Vionet," Leto said quietly, placing his hand on the elf's shoulder, but averting his gaze. "If we do not meet again, it…was an honour to know you, my friend."

Vionet squeezed Leto's hand with his own before quickly releasing it and taking up his shovel. "The honour was mine. _Amici aeterni_."

"_Amici aeterni_," repeated Leto as he walked away. "Keep yourself alive. Anything to survive; remember that."

"Yes, anything to survive," sighed Vionet, daring one last glance at his friend's back. "_Felicitas_, Leto."

~o~O~o~

"I am here, as you commanded, Master." Leto stood before the two magisters, his hands behind his back, his posture straight, and his eyes fixed on the ground; even Mencius's elite Bellatori did not look their master in the eye.

"Leto, this is your new master, Danarius," said Mencius. "You will leave with him immediately."

"Master, may I speak?" Leto asked, his tone respectful and hushed.

"You may," Danarius answered, intrigued by the slave's bravado. His eyes wandered over Leto's bronzed, glistening skin, and, watching a bead of sweat run down Leto's neck, he felt a stirring in his loins he'd not experienced since Aloisius's passing. None of his other slaves had satisfied him since losing his prized warrior, and although he'd never before allowed himself emotional attachments to his servants, he'd been surprised at how much he'd missed Aloisius's company and loyalty.

"Forgive my impertinence, Master, but…what of my mother and sister?"

"They will accompany you," Mencius said impatiently. "Do not trouble Danarius further with inane questions. He requires a demonstration."

Leto's heart stilled momentarily and his breathing slowed; as long as his family were with him he would bear any manner of treatment. Having slumped slightly in relief, he straightened and nodded once. "Whom shall it be, Magister Mencius?" Once again his heart quickened, and he prayed that his friend, Vionet, had not done anything to displease Mencius. The life of a slave, no matter how prized, always hovered on a knife-edge, subject to the whims and fancies of their master.

"As reward for your service, you shall choose," replied Mencius. "But you shall not choose from the Bellatori."

"_Gratias tibi ago_, Magister Mencius." Leto bowed and released his pent-up tension in a long sigh, his eyes moving to another, nearby group of junior bodyguards who were also tending the gardens. Danarius noticed a grim, cold mask settle over Leto's face as his large, green eyes homed in on a red-haired, tattooed elf who was busy pretending not to watch.

"I give you leave to go, Leto," Danarius decreed. "Proceed with your demonstration."

"As you bid, Master." Leto once again bowed and stalked over to the group, who, although aware of Leto's imminent arrival, continued to work; the Bellatori, however, made no such pretence and watched with interest, leaning on their shovels.

"Did you _enjoy_ my sister, Palaemon?" Leto demanded in a snarl as he moved behind the red-haired slave, who stilled his movements. "And did you enjoy her _again_, even after I warned you off her?"

"Bellator, please…" whispered Palaemon, knowing that his seconds were numbered.

"Have the courage to face me, degenerate," commanded Leto, his voice flat and cold.

His hands trembling as they gripped his shovel, a fleeting insanity took the doomed elf and he whipped around, his heavy implement swinging wildly at Leto's head; Leto had anticipated his move, however, and nimbly ducked, driving his shoulder hard into Palaemon's groin. Winded, Palaemon bent double, and, in less time than it takes one to blink, he was belly-down on the ground, his arms jerked behind his back.

"Think of her now," Leto growled, lowering his mouth to Palaemon's ear. "It will be the last thing you remember." With Leto's hands moving in a blur, Palaemon's neck was snapped quietly and efficiently, and Leto got to his feet, his shoulders and chest heaving as he dashed sweat out of his eyes. Immediately, the nearby slaves hastened to pick up the body and carry it away; such incidents were neither unusual nor unexpected.

"I will not forget _any _of you, or what you did to her," Leto threatened bitterly, his fists clenched at his sides as he eyed Palaemon's group.

"That will be sufficient," Mencius called over dispassionately, and Leto stood down from his aggressive stance, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before returning to the magisters. "As you can see," Mencius said to Danarius, "he is swift, clean and merciless. Does he please you?"

"He does," answered the older magister breathlessly, deeply stirred by such a display of strength and violence.

"Will you fuck him before you depart?" Mencius asked. "A long journey awaits you."

"Yes, I believe I will."

"I will have you shown to a room." Mencius snapped his fingers and one of his faceless, nameless lackeys once again appeared, as Leto halted next to them. "Take Magister Danarius and Leto to the Blue Room. Have a bath drawn for Magister Danarius in one hour's time."

"At once, Master."

"And have Varania brought to my chambers," Mencius ordered, smiling as he noticed Leto's sharp inhalation and stiffened posture. "I may as well get _some_ use out of her while she is still here. Unless, of course, Leto has any _objections_?"

All eyes turned to Leto, his own eyes settling on Vionet, who stood a short distance away, mouthing, "anything to survive."

With a small nod to his friend, Leto vowed to himself that this would be the last time his sister was defiled. _Whatever_ it took.

"Of course not, Magister Mencius. It is not my place to question."

"No, it isn't." With a wave of his hand, Mencius dismissed his servants. "I will await you in the library, Danarius; we shall take a drink together before you leave. Enjoy him, as I shall enjoy his sister."

Nodding at the younger magister, Danarius followed Mencius's slave, and Leto fell into line, two steps behind his new master.

~o~O~o~

As the door was closed by Mencius's servant, Danarius glided over to one of the large windows and looked out with his hands clasped behind his back. Leto waited by the door, trying not to think about what Mencius was doing with his sister. He watched as Danarius's shoulders rose and fell, and noticed the light tapping of the magister's foot. A sign of nervousness? Surely not?

Were the rumours true? Had Danarius lost his touch? Was he soft on his slaves?

"Mencius speaks well of you," Danarius said, still facing away, and waited for an answer. When none came, he turned his head slightly. "Well?"

"I am honoured by his kind words, Master," answered Leto.

"If I ask you a question, you may reply without waiting for my leave. I know that Mencius does not permit this, but I am your Master, now, and you may reply freely."

"As you say, Master."

Danarius slowly turned around, his hands still folded behind his back. Leto, who was determined to test his new master, did not avert his gaze as the magister stepped closer to him. Such a bold action would have invited severe punishment from Mencius, but Leto wanted to see what Danarius was about. If Leto was beaten, at least he would know where he stood.

If he _wasn't_ beaten, however…

"You would look your master in the eye?" asked Danarius, his voice gruff.

"Would you have a wolf or a sheep as your protector?" asked Leto, bracing himself to be struck.

To his utter shock, however, Danarius grinned slowly, a deep, quiet laugh rumbling through him. "Mencius was right; you _are_ wilful. Only one other slave I have known has dared to look me directly in the eye. Up until last month, he was my head bodyguard, and he served me well for six years."

"I will do my best to serve you as well as my predecessor, Master," said Leto with a dip of his head.

"You presume much," Danarius replied, a hard edge entering his voice. "I said _nothing_ of your role. You will serve me in whichever capacity I see fit."

The blow came from nowhere and forced the air out of Leto's lungs as pain spread through the left side of his face. Drawing a shaky breath, he straightened his posture and once again met Danarius's gaze. "Of course, Master; forgive my insolence," he said with a steady dignity.

"You're a proud one," Danarius said, his smile returning as he rubbed his knuckles. "There is nothing more despicable than a simpering, pusillanimous slave. Do you _know_ what pusillanimous means?"

"Yes, Master; it means cowardly."

Danarius's eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded. "As much as I detest cowardice, let there be no mistake that you_ will _know your place, Leto. I am your master. If you respect that, then there is no reason why we cannot have an amicable relationship, where you are free to speak your mind. Within reason, of course."

Leto bowed and then stood up straight. "I know my place, Master. May I presume to speak my mind now?"

Danarius cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Do."

"My sister," Leto began. "Her name is Varania. I humbly make one request of you, Master, and I will never again impinge upon your generosity. I ask that you do not use her as a bed-warmer; for you, or for anyone else."

"And why should I grant such an impudent request?"

"If you do, Master, then I will serve you with unwavering loyalty and will protect you without thought or question."

"I _expect _you to do that, anyway," answered Danarius, his voice once again taking on a harsh quality.

His heart thumping, Leto decided to take another risk. "If you do not, then you might as well kill me now. I will do nothing you ask of me, and you will be forced to beat, torture or kill me. You will have wasted your trip here today and you will lose out on a fine and loyal bodyguard. Master."

Taken aback for a second, Danarius quickly recovered his composure. "A fine bodyguard? That remains to be seen. If you please me, then I may consider it. Strip and lie on the bed."

"_Gladly_, Master," Leto replied huskily, a lascivious gleam in his eyes. Years of servitude had made Leto an accomplished actor, and he suspected that if he played his cards right, he could rise to a prominent position in Danarius's household. He moved to the bed, his eyes never leaving the magister's, and slowly and gracefully removed his trousers, not easy to do while manacled. "How do you want me, Master?" he asked as he clambered onto the bed and got onto all fours, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment when Danarius could not see his face.

Hearing a heavy robe drop to the floor, he felt the bed shift as Danarius knelt upon it and heard the magister's heavy breathing, which matched his own. A large hand grabbed his wrist and he was flipped over onto his back. His knees were forced up against his chest, and he quickly took in the myriad scars that were etched across Danarius's flabby body as the magister bore down upon him, his cloudy blue eyes alight with lust and power.

"You _do_ have something of the wolf about you," grunted Danarius, and Leto felt the mage's erection press against his entrance. "I am your master. You will be _my _wolf, and you will look me in the eyes as I take you."

"I will, Master," groaned Leto, his eyes rolling back in his head as he arched his back, feigning arousal. "I will be your wolf."

_Anything to survive._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much, Mary, for your beta, as well as your support and encouragement._

~o~O~o~

"Mother is coming, Varania. You must not let her see. Be strong. Weep when you are alone. Do you hear me?"

Leto placed his hands on his sister's arms, gently stroking, as they waited next to the rickety wagon that would bear them to their new home. Varania, who had not been permitted to bathe after Mencius had finished with her, released a shaky sob and nodded.

"Sister…we agreed; we _must_ be strong for Mother. Do you remember what I told you?"

She nodded again and wiped her eyes. "Our bodies are but containers for our souls. Our bodies may be harmed or misused, but our souls are forever…" Her voice broke and she drew a deep breath.

"…Our souls cannot be tainted by the Magisters' foulness," Leto finished for her. "That part of us remains pure, beautiful and unspoilt, and _that _is what you must remember."

"Yes, Leto." Varania steadied her breathing and slowly raised her head. "I will remember."

"She draws near," he told her as their mother, Silvestra, hobbled closer on her stick, flanked by two of Danarius's servants. "Stand tall; you have nothing to be ashamed of," he whispered to Varania, reaching for the shoulders of her drab dress and smoothing the fabric, his hands stilling momentarily when he spotted several fingertip-sized bruises on her neck.

Quickly, he covered the marks with her collar, and placed his own hands behind his back, balling them into tight fists as he fought to master the fury, fast and fierce, that seared his stomach and gullet, and the pressure that pushed against the sides of his skull.

Strong emotions were not a commodity that a slave could afford.

"And what of you, Brother?" Varania asked softly, and the pressure in Leto's skull eased slightly, before pinpricks of irritation stabbed into his gut.

"Do not trouble yourself over me," he said, his voice harsh. Varania lowered her head and Leto's stomach churned.

He had not been the same since their father's death a year earlier. He had always vowed to protect his father and he'd failed utterly. He would _not _see his sister or mother suffer a similar fate. He would protect them no matter what, and had slowly begun to detach himself from his emotions, convinced that the less he felt, the stronger he would become.

When he was shown kindness or empathy, however, his self-imposed barriers crumbled and he was reminded that he was just a man – a man with feelings – and that was also something he could not afford. His sister would recover from his sharpness; she would _not _recover, however, if he allowed her kind words to blur his focus.

"Onto the wagon, slaves!" ordered one of Danarius's men, and Leto assisted first his mother and then his sister to climb aboard.

"Not you, _Scutum Domini_." Leto turned around, finding himself at the end of a sword. "Over there," said Danarius's flunkey, pointing to the head of the magister's entourage. "You have been granted the honour of walking beside Master Danarius during our journey home. Take your place."

"But…he cannot walk to Minrathous!" Varania protested from atop the wagon. "I have heard that the journey will take five days and nights!"

She was silenced with a touch to the arm from her mother, who shook her head in warning. Varania desisted but gave Leto a pleading look.

"It is but a test," her brother answered. "The first of many, I suspect. Fear not, Sister, Mother; I am up to it." He then faced the sword-wielding man and folded his arms defiantly. "The edge of your weapon is dull, _Subditus_. I go because I choose to, not because you wave your _training sword_ at me."

With a mocking smirk, Leto walked to the side of Danarius's carriage, leaving the magister's bemused servants to secure the wagon.

"I fear that your brother's swagger will one day be his undoing," Silvestra murmured resignedly to Varania as they sat on the wagon's base, their shackles secured to it by the servants.

"He knows what he's doing, Mother. Hush now, and worry no more. Lean on me."

"Thank you, Daughter," groaned Silvestra, settling herself against Varania to take the strain off her aching hip. "Your words do not convince me, but Maker bless you for saying them."

Varania knew that her mother's devout faith in the Maker gave her strength, but it was a faith she did not share. What kind of deity would doom His children to a life, a _fate_, such as theirs?

Varania also feared for her brother, but did not give voice to her concerns for her mother's sake. She knew exactly where her brother had been before he was brought to the courtyard; she could smell male sex on him, a smell that she was all too familiar with. What would _his _role in Danarius's household be, she wondered, as it meant she did not wonder about her new position.

And at least she had stopped thinking of Mencius.

Leto, however, had not.

Holding the bridle of one of Danarius's rounceys, Leto looked back at the sprawling estate that had been his home since his early years, when he and his family had been acquired in Seheron and sold to Magister de Ralaga, Mencius's predecessor. Only two years ago, Mencius had defeated de Ralaga in a fight that was the culmination of the bitter rivalry between the two, and Mencius had inherited all of de Ralaga's estate and chattels, in accordance with Tevinter law.

During his tenure in the victor's house, Leto had learned a great deal. He had learned how to lie, to scheme, and to manipulate. He had learned to kowtow to his betters, and to treat his lessers with scorn. He had learned how to kill without mercy. He had learned how to separate himself from his body when one of Mencius's guests had sought 'entertainment'.

He had learned the cause of his thirteen-year old sister's swollen belly, and why, one morning, it was no longer swollen, and why she had cried for days, asking where they'd taken her child. And he'd learned again when she'd been fifteen. After that, her belly had swollen a few more times, but it had not lasted for long.

He had learned that men did not need to bleed to die, when he'd caught his father as he'd collapsed in the fields, and had held him until his breathing had stopped.

He had learned so much in his young life, and had forgotten only one thing: who _he_ was supposed to be.

But he was still alive, at least; many of his friends had not been so lucky.

He watched from afar as the two Magisters stepped into the courtyard, and began the ritual of back-slapping, empty handshakes and false well-wishes. His eyes lingered on his former master, Mencius, and he imagined the sadist's hand closing around his sister's throat, heard his grunts, smelled his sweat and semen.

Heard _her_ sobs.

"One day I will return, Mencius," he avowed. "If it takes the rest of my life, I will see you on your knees. You willpay for your _and _de Ralaga's depravity."

Leto's eyes moved to the bearded, grey-haired magister who had taken him, dry, not so long ago, and had made him bleed. He rubbed his cheekbone, where Danarius had struck him four times, for reasons Leto could not fathom.

It would seem he still had much to learn.

Danarius's fourth strike had thankfully brought the magister to climax, and Leto had been grateful for that, at least; he was also relieved that he'd left his mother's side before the swelling had become apparent.

But Leto did not shy away from the pain; he embraced it, for it signified he was still alive.

Danarius began to walk away from Mencius, and Leto straightened up as best he could, awaiting his master's arrival. When Danarius reached him, he looked Leto up and down, turning his new bodyguard's face to the side with his hand.

"Regrettable," mused Danarius, "but this will serve as a warning to better please your master." He released Leto's face and watched him expectantly.

"Pray, tell me where I erred, Master, and I will endeavour to mend my ways."

"Four times you closed your eyes, Wolf, when I had bid you not to. Were you enjoying yourself?"

"Of course, Master, but _your_ pleasure is paramount. I will be better next time," Leto promised with a small bow.

"No," uttered Danarius, moving so close to Leto he could feel the old man's breath on his face. "Next time you will close your eyes _twice_ as many times, even if I command you not to. I find I rather enjoy it when you disobey me."

An unpleasant rush through Leto's chest quickened his heart, but his expression remained impassive, and he nodded. "As you command, Master."

Stepping back, Danarius swept his arm in an arc, and Leto turned around to see. "Take one last look at this place, Wolf. Your new life begins here. Now, you belong to me."

Watching as Danarius clambered aboard his carriage and closed the door, Leto turned his back on Mencius's estate and began to walk as the carriage got underway, with only his thoughts for company.

He had learned much, but, as he would discover, his real education was about to begin.


End file.
